It's the last week of classes and I'm surprisingly calm about final exams and final projects. Perhaps I condensed so many worries these past two quarters that I used up all of my year-allotted worry points. No matter. I'm not complaining. Knowing me and my neuroses, this may not last much longer, but that's something I'm also OK with. Worry keeps me motivated. It's part of my essential DNA.
Anyway, I mention this odd sense of calm because today I completed one final "project:" a "micro-teaching session" for the course I'm teaching this spring. The assignment was to conduct a "mini-lesson" with the other teaching facilitators, get feedback, learn what to do with students who will be enrolled in the class, and realize that I'm probably trying to pack in too much reading in too little time. I wasn't all that nervous about it; I've read the stories I'm teaching a billion times (and still love them) and I figured whatever would happen, would happen.
However, I was concerned about how the other facilitators would react to the reading. I feared that they would sit down with the story I sent out and think it was stupid. Their validation of the material's quality felt (feels) important to me because I trust their opinions. Somehow, I felt like someone would stare at the story and think: "What's the point? Why did I bother reading this?" I often get defensive about reading I enjoy, trying to justify it and its importance even in the face of criticism. Then, of course, I feel bad about getting defensive and, on top of it all, feel bad when other people don't enjoy what I enjoy because somehow what I chose to enjoy isn't good enough if other people don't like it.
Phew. What a mouthful. It probably goes without saying that I care a lot about what other people think.
When I started class, I asked how many people had done the reading.
"I didn't receive it," was the first response I heard.
"Wait, what? You didn't receive it?" my voice grew louder, higher-pitched. Oh my God. This lesson was totally ruined; everything I wanted to discuss was based on this ONE reading. If no one read the story, how in the world was this lesson even going to be possible?
Our instructor, Kumiko, suggested that we all read the story together since it was so short. I sighed. This was NOT how I wanted to spend the time. It seemed like a waste of valuable "teaching" time to do a read around, but I complied; I didn't really have an option.
But it worked. I read it out loud, people listened, we discussed.
The best part was, the discussion worked well, too, and absolutely no one questioned the quality of the story. Everyone got what the story was about and were able to work beyond the story and talk about larger issues relating to the creative nonfiction genre and how the story functioned within that genre. It was amazing. The conversation veered in directions I didn't predict, but it was exhilarating to mull over different ideas, to debate questions we had, and to value each other's opinions.
It's easy to feel alone in one's enthusiasm, but with today's lesson, the process of sharing an excitement to discover and to appreciate one another's opinions completely made my day.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Today I Appreciate Cooking Pizza By Myself while Listening to Loud Music
There are some days when you just need to cook. Today's been a day of writing, writing, writing and memorizing French. Assuaging an exhausted brain can only be remedied in one way: with mindless activity.
Cooking may not be the case for everyone. Cleaning, gardening, and organizing all seem like approximately equivalent tasks in terms of the amount of mental exertion/energy it requires. Cooking requires some motivation, of course,to create and use the side of one's brain that says "OK, Jenae, take this recipe step one, two, three, four until completion."
Following steps is a beautifully mind-numbing yet all-consuming task. Simply focusing on stirring over the stove top or chopping up an onion is a perfect and simple way to relax. I've been wanting to make homemade pizza for ages, staring at the pizza pan thrown in the cabinet with the other pots and pans, debating what to make and how to make it.
I made a really simple recipe (and used pre-made pizza dough, which definitely does not make me a very legitimately gourmet cook, but whatever) and... it was fun. I cooked for myself by myself and it was probably one of the most satisfying experiences I've had in a long time. See, I love to cook for other people and I love to entertain, but I love the lack of pressure in simply experimenting on a recipe for me. There are no expectations when I'm cooking for me. If I mess up, it's my own fault and I'm the only one who really has to suffer the consequences. I don't have to justify any culinary choices to anyone but myself. Sure, it's a little lonely in the kitchen knowing that you're the only feeding yourself, but finding happiness in autonomy and realizing that being alone does not necessarily equate to loneliness is beautiful.
Doing something like cooking by yourself, too, provides an opportunity to just be and not worry about other people's expectations of how you should act, too. I didn't have to worry tonight about maintaining a conversation while attempting to pay attention to the stovetop. All I had to do was stir, focus on the Franz Liszt I had playing at high volume in the background, and... create great food. It's funny how simple life can be when experienced all alone every once in a while.
Now here's the greater question: to continue my culinary conquests (how's that for some alliteration) with a batch of sweet potato and walnut muffins or no?
Cooking may not be the case for everyone. Cleaning, gardening, and organizing all seem like approximately equivalent tasks in terms of the amount of mental exertion/energy it requires. Cooking requires some motivation, of course,to create and use the side of one's brain that says "OK, Jenae, take this recipe step one, two, three, four until completion."
Following steps is a beautifully mind-numbing yet all-consuming task. Simply focusing on stirring over the stove top or chopping up an onion is a perfect and simple way to relax. I've been wanting to make homemade pizza for ages, staring at the pizza pan thrown in the cabinet with the other pots and pans, debating what to make and how to make it.
I made a really simple recipe (and used pre-made pizza dough, which definitely does not make me a very legitimately gourmet cook, but whatever) and... it was fun. I cooked for myself by myself and it was probably one of the most satisfying experiences I've had in a long time. See, I love to cook for other people and I love to entertain, but I love the lack of pressure in simply experimenting on a recipe for me. There are no expectations when I'm cooking for me. If I mess up, it's my own fault and I'm the only one who really has to suffer the consequences. I don't have to justify any culinary choices to anyone but myself. Sure, it's a little lonely in the kitchen knowing that you're the only feeding yourself, but finding happiness in autonomy and realizing that being alone does not necessarily equate to loneliness is beautiful.
Doing something like cooking by yourself, too, provides an opportunity to just be and not worry about other people's expectations of how you should act, too. I didn't have to worry tonight about maintaining a conversation while attempting to pay attention to the stovetop. All I had to do was stir, focus on the Franz Liszt I had playing at high volume in the background, and... create great food. It's funny how simple life can be when experienced all alone every once in a while.
Now here's the greater question: to continue my culinary conquests (how's that for some alliteration) with a batch of sweet potato and walnut muffins or no?
Friday, March 6, 2009
Today I Appreciate the Person in the Panda Suit
While walking to class today, I saw a giant panda.
Amazingly, this panda was not trying to sell me anything nor was he (or maybe she?) trying to encourage me to use soy bean paper or eat vegetarian. The panda just roamed campus, silent, its presence saying enough for itself.
I couldn't help but smile. The panda's ears were tattered, the black fur a little faded and matted, and its head unusually large, but the pure whimsy, the joy at seeing something out of the ordinary and joyful on campus made the day just a touch brighter.
This just proved to me that relishing in the absurd, embracing the ridiculous, and recognizing that life can - and should be - a little bit silly sometimes is incredibly valuable.
Amazingly, this panda was not trying to sell me anything nor was he (or maybe she?) trying to encourage me to use soy bean paper or eat vegetarian. The panda just roamed campus, silent, its presence saying enough for itself.
I couldn't help but smile. The panda's ears were tattered, the black fur a little faded and matted, and its head unusually large, but the pure whimsy, the joy at seeing something out of the ordinary and joyful on campus made the day just a touch brighter.
This just proved to me that relishing in the absurd, embracing the ridiculous, and recognizing that life can - and should be - a little bit silly sometimes is incredibly valuable.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Today I Appreciate Realizing that Every Day is Not a Bad Day
Excuse the melodramatic title for this post. As a friend and reader of this blog, Naveed, wrote me, "Since you haven't updated your blog, you must be busy." Well, yes, that's true, but I suppose it's been a lot of falling into self-pitying kind of behavior again as evidenced by an equally (if not more) melodramatic Facebook status update from a few days ago: "Jenae keeps messing things up."
Hmm.
That, of course, came as a result of the fact that my car battery died because I had left the lights on merely one day after I received my car back from the auto repair shop. Of course I felt like an idiot (mostly because I feared my parents' retribution and I kicked myself for my own simple oversight), though that certainly did not mean I was "messing things up." What that mostly meant was "OK, lesson learned. Check your lights, check your lights, check your lights." If only the rationality of hindsight blessed me more often while actually in the moment of panicking/self-flagellating (not literal self-flagellation, of course. Don't worry; I'm not going to turn into the crazy Agnus Dei albino of "The Da Vinci Code").
Anyway, it's not that I haven't been keeping track of what's been making me happy every day. In fact, I planned to write this entry as a sort of "greatest hits" of the past week, finally recording here what has, in fact, dotted my days with little bits of happiness. Yes, I've been busy, and yes, I've felt down enough this week to think, "What do I have to appreciate today? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BECAUSE MY LIFE SUCKS," but I've also enjoyed moments of peace by myself, moments of genuine joy and appreciation with friends, moments of academic discovery and excitement, and - amazingly - moments of feeling healthy and strong (as in, I took a run! A real run!).
Funnily enough, too, I just had a conversation with a few classmates about the woes of journaling. For an interview class, we were "required" to write in a journal throughout the quarter and prior to class, my classmates began to lament the fact that they - of course - hadn't actually completed the assignment.
"I start a journal for, like, two days and then I just give up," one guy stated. One of the girls in the class agreed.
"I just feel so weird writing for myself, you know? I like writing e-mails because they have a purpose."
I added how I felt like most of my past journal entries were rather self-referential, commenting on the act of journaling and how great it is. Looks like I'm doing the same thing here, I suppose, but I think what stuck out for me from the conversation was the fact that we all felt this similar fear of not writing something that was "interesting." We all complained about how our lives weren't terribly interesting things to write about and that no one but ourselves really even cared about the papers due next week or the club meetings to attend or the roommates/coworkers/classmates to whine about. I agree that those are a lot of uninteresting details that when compiled all into one place that can sound a lot like a big whinefest. I read back on old "Xanga" (a weblog site that, as far as I can tell, has gone completely by the wayside) and cringe a little bit; there's an awful lot of moaning about how "busy" I am with high school homework.
Yet I still keep reading my teen entries and at that time, plenty of other people did. A journal is a time capsule, a way to preserve certain emotions and ideas we may never recover. There's a difference between complaining and spilling out our brains on to paper. We're all interested in each other's lives because we tend to be a little voyeuristic by nature. I've always said that if I could have a super power, I'd want to read minds just to get that little extra piece of insight into someone else. What seems boring to us may very well be boring, but it also very well may provide an insight for others or simply for ourselves that was completely unexpected. That's simply the risk one must take.
So, without further ado, here's the list of things I've appreciated over the past week (that I wrote down or remember) that part of me has just been a little too afraid to post if only because... well... they seemed uninteresting at the time. Let's see what we get out of it now:
On Friday, February 27th, I appreciated the couple at Wildflour Pizza who asked if my friend and I were waiting on a table before they went ahead and took one.
On Saturday, February 28th, I appreciated the worker at Paulette Macarons who provided my friend and I with free samples as we debated what to order without pushing us to make a purchase.
On Sunday, February 29th, I appreiciated one of the football players I tutor, Pat, for posing thoughtful questions about a science fiction novel he read for class and actually wanting to engage in a discussion with me about it.
On Tuesday, March 3rd, I appreciated the giant cardboard cutout sign on the corner of Santa Monica and Westwood Boulevard that allowed passersby to stick their head into a photograph of a man in a kayak. L.A. needs more silly advertisements.
On Wednesday, March 4th, I appreciated rewatching "Amelie," and seeing a film that represents a desire to appreciate simple pleasures and confronts head-on how social anxiety and the fear of rejection affects every one of us.
And right now, I appreciate listening to Pandora bundled up in warm sweat pants, reminiscing upon the week.
Hmm.
That, of course, came as a result of the fact that my car battery died because I had left the lights on merely one day after I received my car back from the auto repair shop. Of course I felt like an idiot (mostly because I feared my parents' retribution and I kicked myself for my own simple oversight), though that certainly did not mean I was "messing things up." What that mostly meant was "OK, lesson learned. Check your lights, check your lights, check your lights." If only the rationality of hindsight blessed me more often while actually in the moment of panicking/self-flagellating (not literal self-flagellation, of course. Don't worry; I'm not going to turn into the crazy Agnus Dei albino of "The Da Vinci Code").
Anyway, it's not that I haven't been keeping track of what's been making me happy every day. In fact, I planned to write this entry as a sort of "greatest hits" of the past week, finally recording here what has, in fact, dotted my days with little bits of happiness. Yes, I've been busy, and yes, I've felt down enough this week to think, "What do I have to appreciate today? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BECAUSE MY LIFE SUCKS," but I've also enjoyed moments of peace by myself, moments of genuine joy and appreciation with friends, moments of academic discovery and excitement, and - amazingly - moments of feeling healthy and strong (as in, I took a run! A real run!).
Funnily enough, too, I just had a conversation with a few classmates about the woes of journaling. For an interview class, we were "required" to write in a journal throughout the quarter and prior to class, my classmates began to lament the fact that they - of course - hadn't actually completed the assignment.
"I start a journal for, like, two days and then I just give up," one guy stated. One of the girls in the class agreed.
"I just feel so weird writing for myself, you know? I like writing e-mails because they have a purpose."
I added how I felt like most of my past journal entries were rather self-referential, commenting on the act of journaling and how great it is. Looks like I'm doing the same thing here, I suppose, but I think what stuck out for me from the conversation was the fact that we all felt this similar fear of not writing something that was "interesting." We all complained about how our lives weren't terribly interesting things to write about and that no one but ourselves really even cared about the papers due next week or the club meetings to attend or the roommates/coworkers/classmates to whine about. I agree that those are a lot of uninteresting details that when compiled all into one place that can sound a lot like a big whinefest. I read back on old "Xanga" (a weblog site that, as far as I can tell, has gone completely by the wayside) and cringe a little bit; there's an awful lot of moaning about how "busy" I am with high school homework.
Yet I still keep reading my teen entries and at that time, plenty of other people did. A journal is a time capsule, a way to preserve certain emotions and ideas we may never recover. There's a difference between complaining and spilling out our brains on to paper. We're all interested in each other's lives because we tend to be a little voyeuristic by nature. I've always said that if I could have a super power, I'd want to read minds just to get that little extra piece of insight into someone else. What seems boring to us may very well be boring, but it also very well may provide an insight for others or simply for ourselves that was completely unexpected. That's simply the risk one must take.
So, without further ado, here's the list of things I've appreciated over the past week (that I wrote down or remember) that part of me has just been a little too afraid to post if only because... well... they seemed uninteresting at the time. Let's see what we get out of it now:
On Friday, February 27th, I appreciated the couple at Wildflour Pizza who asked if my friend and I were waiting on a table before they went ahead and took one.
On Saturday, February 28th, I appreciated the worker at Paulette Macarons who provided my friend and I with free samples as we debated what to order without pushing us to make a purchase.
On Sunday, February 29th, I appreiciated one of the football players I tutor, Pat, for posing thoughtful questions about a science fiction novel he read for class and actually wanting to engage in a discussion with me about it.
On Tuesday, March 3rd, I appreciated the giant cardboard cutout sign on the corner of Santa Monica and Westwood Boulevard that allowed passersby to stick their head into a photograph of a man in a kayak. L.A. needs more silly advertisements.
On Wednesday, March 4th, I appreciated rewatching "Amelie," and seeing a film that represents a desire to appreciate simple pleasures and confronts head-on how social anxiety and the fear of rejection affects every one of us.
And right now, I appreciate listening to Pandora bundled up in warm sweat pants, reminiscing upon the week.
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